My Name is Melancholy

This morning, I woke up semi sober, which is rare nowadays. It’s one of those windows between the periods of catatonic fogs completely envelope me and render me intellectually incapacitated. I thought while I still retain a shred of clarity, I should write stuff down before all is gone again.

No, I am not happy, haven’t been for a long time. I barely feel human these days. In fact, I feel like a caged animal powerless to make any real difference, just waking up every day facing the same four walls depresses me to no ends not to mention living in it 24/7. By the end of the day, I usually end up in a state of deep pensiveness and devastation which I try to elevate with watching TV shows before I can relatively fall alseep in peace.

I take double doses of Prozac for my depression daily. It works, to an extent, of relieving me from the deep pain I feel inside like a knife I couldn’t pull from my heart. Problem is, the effect renders me living in a catatonic daze, my life flashes in front of my eyes persistently but I just won’t die. I feel like a very old soul and I think I kind of understand how those creatures cursed with immortality feel, apart from instead of watching everyone around them die, I watch myself die repeatedly inside. Everytime I look out the window or hear the sound of the hustling and bustling outside, I feel like an undead, hideous looking, forever alone and completely hidden among the land of the living, surround by a deep, dark and impenetrable moat, with no where to go and no one to talk to. Everything feels so distant, unattenanble, unreal.

Have I awalys been like this? Despite some pretty dramatic environmental changes and other people’s behaviours I have no control of which intensified my unnecessary sufferings, nothing about me seemed to have changed much interiorly so I guess I was doomed from the start.

I was born a female, it was a tragedy my mother never recovered from. When I was little, both my parents worked and my grandparents didn’t want to look after a profitless burden so I get shoved around in odd places a lot. At the hands of some random people my mother called friends, I was tied up, tortured and emaciated. Most people don’t have memories when they were as young as infants and I know most of mine was blocked out due to severe trauma, but still, some fragments was seared in my brain so deep they shine through uninvited at times. I have flashes of me crying and screaming while reaching out for the cake my father left there, it was so close and yet so far, in front of me but just out of my reach. The people in the house would shout at me and scorn me in front of others in public but I was too young to know what I was guilty of. One day, my father left work early to pick me up, he saw everything from the window and that was that. After that day, I was left alone at home with the house key hanging around my neck. I was a slow and clumsy kid, I got tricked and beaten up by the neighbourhood kids a lot whenever I ventured out and during home invasions. Heck, with an under developed frontal lobe, I even managed injure myself easily without the generous help of others as I was senseless to danger and often either fell into or off strange places. With so many bruses and scares on my body, I was literally covered in anticeptic solutions of blue and purple dyes.

As much as I wanted to socialize and have fun, based on the evidences and feedbacks, I quickly learned that I needed to adapt to be on my own in order to survive my youth. It was a pragmatic measure and I had neither choice nor objection. What to do to pass time? As I was a precocious reader, there was only one thing to do: reading. It helped me through the loneliness of childhood, the endless fights of my parents during my teenage years and the disillusion of the reality in my tragic adult life. I built walls around me, not just psychological walls, they were literal walls made of large cases of books covering all the walls of my bedroom. I willingly trapped myself in the endless pit of literature in order to keep out the dramas of the mundane. Watching the undulating diaphanous silk curtain caressed by the gentle breeze, Looking into a thousand iridescent sunsets, I glimped the lives lived on the other shores, experienced thoughts and emotions of unknown depth, blurring the lines of twilights. I used to weep uncontrollably bewteen wistful reveries not even knowing why.

With a blink of an eye, all those years have passed and I am here talking to you. I write, not because I am proud of myself or what I have done, but because I hope to share my experiences and thoughts with individuals who can relate deeply without the facade of meaningless social interactions for I have not the motivation nor energy. I think the meds are catching me up now, so I bid you a wonderful day.